


Come Undone

by Milligan (Blackheathen)



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24783025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackheathen/pseuds/Milligan
Summary: Jareth lies in the ruins of the Labyrinth.
Kudos: 4





	Come Undone

Come Undone

Scuttle. Again and again, little scuttlings all around him. Jareth did not need to turn his head to see what made such sounds. He'd had an eternity (and then some) to learn their ways. Only they were closer now, their taloned feet stirring the dust as they passed by. Jareth could fancy hearing the ground protest as they clambered and scuffled, heedless and as focussed as errant children.

Movement in the corner of his eye. He was lying on the ground of course, he reminded himself. The pale sun beat out the last hours of the day, causing the shadows to crawl out from wherever they'd been hiding. The owl in Jareth scowled at the sun. Always it had been a poor copy of the one he'd been born under, casting rose tinted rays across the land, giving everything the hue of flesh and blood. He sighed and turned his face away from it. He would wait for the moon, his goddess.

There was a ponderous step at his ear. A heavy one, accompanied by a telltale clink and rattle.

"Hmm, well, what have we here?". Jareth knew she was not commenting on himself. In fact, he could almost see her grimy hand reaching out....

"Leave it be, Agnes". To his surprise she did just that, although he could tell she pouted mightily. She bent forward at the waist, bringing her misshapen face close to the gleaming bottle.

"Eh? What's this then?"

Though he didn't wish to engage wits with Agnes, he answered. "It's called cognac. An Overland drink of some value, I believe". Jareth turned slightly to clutch the decorated glass, bringing it to his lips. It was awkward to drink from a bottle whilst  laying flat on the ground, and some spilled down his cheek to pool in the dust. A drunkard of the mortal world would likely try to scoop up what was lost, he thought, but Jareth had no need. He had cellars of the golden stuff, most of it like this bottle and well past a good vintage. He had stolen it (amongst other things) from the French Royal court in the  eighteenth century and it had been old even then. Now, it was as potent as liquid fire in his veins. He imagined it tracing a path from his mouth to head, scalding as it went, bringing a false warmth to flesh that never truly was.

He stared at Agnes through the gilded glass bottle. Her features warped and spun, the amber fluid giving her an almost human looking colour. She was in turn staring fixedly at the ruin of the Gates, askew on their hinges and lazily swinging like laundry. As she watched, several more creatures scampered through. Word had spread all too quickly.

"Aren't you going to do anything then?" she muttered, gesturing. "About this?"

In answer, he waved the near empty bottle at her, the cognac sloshing madly as if trying to escape its fate.

"Too late, beautiful Agnes" he said, too loudly. He wanted to blow her a kiss, but she had turned back to him, coming close enough that he could smell her breath. Agnes just might take him up on the offer. Her warty face ogled an inch away.

"What about your oath? You swore to keep them all"

"I did, but we have been undone, Labyrinth and I. We have been unraveled as surely as Asterion's was once before. The link has been forged, the walls broken down, the Gates thrown open. Whatever has lurked and lived in this pitiful land is now free, Agnes. Even you. Why are you still here?"

"Because I am not as foolish as ....these others" she whispered, half laughing in his ear. Behind her, a toothy hobgoblin paused to leer as it made  its escape. It was heading to the  Overlands , following the link made by the mortal girl as surely as a hound on the scent. Worse things than goblins were stirring. Jareth felt them. Old, nameless horrors from the old times, ready to spread their fearful touch on a world that had long ago forgotten them.

Agnes continued to laugh to herself, and Jareth could not help but respond in kind. Agnes was older than he, and  infinitely wiser on most days. His drunken laugh was short and bitter.

"Need you this...stuff?" she commented, spurning the now empty flagon with her foot.

"Oh, you have no idea, wise one". He rolled over and sat up gingerly, feeling the world swim. His limbs felt lax, fingers numb, yet inside he was still as taut as newly strung bowline. Damn this mortal drink, he thought. How much did it take? Maybe he ought to crawl back through the ruins to find the cellar again.

"You should not linger, Dream King" Agnes said, tapping his chest lightly. "Enough is enough. Go to, and make right"

"But it's to the left, actually...she is, I mean" he said awkwardly. His sole confessor did not care for his jest.

"Ah, but you are impossible". Agnes was stumping away now, back towards where the Gates had been. She crossed over the tattered magical ward and stood there glaring back at him.

Jareth shed his garments as darkness covered him. The thin pale of the moon would be all the light he needed, feeling the stirring of his owl-form in his breast. Aloft in the warm air, he could see with different eyes the shocking rent that had been ripped into his world. Somewhere, on the other side, was Sarah. Unknowing, innocent Sarah, whose very heartbeats held exposed what had been the most guarded realm in all of history.

The owl wanted to fly. It was time to hunt.

Stilling that heart would not make the Labyrinth whole again. Her scar would never be melded into new flesh, but at least it would stop the bleeding.

The End


End file.
